


Bits of History

by belana



Category: 11th Century CE RPF, 15th Century CE RPF, I Medici | Medici: Masters of Florence (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2020-11-05
Packaged: 2021-02-26 22:48:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21936829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/belana/pseuds/belana
Summary: 1. Contessina de Bardi knows better than everyone what it means to be a Medici – a good Medici for everyone2. Ingegerd and her daughters
Kudos: 18





	1. Good for Everyone

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Хорошая для всех](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/544447) by Essilt. 
  * A translation of [Гордые](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/709768) by Essilt. 

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Contessina de Bardi knows better than everyone what it means to be a Medici – a good Medici for everyone

Contessina is a dutiful daughter in law.

Haughty Venetian Nannina whose face still carries a touch of beauty past — that had a stronger influence on Giovanni di Bichi’s choice of a wife than her noble ancestry, as rumor has it — sometimes nods approvingly. And Contessina blossoms in the light of this rather sparse approval.

She craves to be appealing to her new family, but whole two years go by until a healthy and calm boy is born. And all this time Giovanni di Bichi looks at Contessina as if he doubts whether she truly was a good money investment, and Nannina stops nodding approvingly.

Cosimo has a woman in Rome, he doesn’t acknowledge that, but doesn’t deny it either. Everyone does that in the Medici family, apart from Lorenzo.

Ginevra Cavalcanti is a marble goddess, not created for family life, she’d prefer to wed God than into the Medici money, but her firstborn is born exactly nine months after the wedding. _It’s an inauspicious beginning,_ Lorenzo smirks sardonically, first hearing his bride’s name. He’s five years older than Contessina and six years older than Cosimo. It’s almost a mockery, but he’s taller, broader in the shoulders, and his voice is deeper. Contessina noticed surprise on the faces of envoys many times when Cosimo spoke while Lorenzo kept demure silence. He never quarreled with his brother in public.

“A woman in Rome is just a woman in Rome,” He consoles Contessina awkwardly.

The man himself has several women in Florence. Ginevra even lit a candle in the church, thankful that they got her rid of marital duties.

Contessina is an attentive mother.

Cosimo is interested in Piero no more than he’s interested in a sickly kitten. Contessina senses a weaker child and defends him as hard as she can.

“Piero is gifted!” she insists. Maybe she’s a bit loud and angry than she should be. “And he’s your firstborn child! You simply don’t want to listen to him, and his reasons are wise!”

Cosimo winces and shrugs — as a true leader of the pack he doesn’t think it’s necessary to waste resources on unsuitable issue and lays all his hopes on Giovanni. That child is strong, healthy and smart beyond his years. He’s not just quick on the uptake, it seems he knows answers before his father even opens his mouth. Cosimo is thrilled with his younger son.

What seemed to be amusing to Contessina in Cosimo and Lorenzo turns into pain when she sees Piero and Giovanni.

“Piero has bookish wisdom. My heir should be every inch a business man.”

“And here I thought that money lending was a sin,” Contessina snaps helplessly.

Cosimo doesn’t answer.

He acquires a shadow by the name of Marco Bello. Contessina likes this surly guard of Cosimo’s until she notices how much pain this friendship bring to Lorenzo.

Cosimo betrays them all.

“He chose others above us all,” Contessina consoles Lorenzo cheerlessly.

Piero becomes even more moody. Lorenzo begins yet another love affair in the city. Ginevra’s borne three children, despite his rare, reluctant and distant visits to the marital bed. Contessina still wonders at her marble indifference.

Contessina is a devoted wife.

It seems to her for a long time that the abyss between her and Cosimo widens due to diligence of his parents. No matter how much effort she applied, she was constantly reminded that she wasn’t a Medici by blood, even though she was connected to them by blood twice already.

Contessina mourns Giovanni di Bicci and Nannina, but inside she’s elated: finally Cosimo will turn to her in his thoughts and in his heart.

The trouble is not in Giovanni di Bicci and Nannina, though, Contessina realizes belatedly, experiencing the same coldness in conversations and looks, detached permission of care, the trouble was in Cosimo himself.

Contessina would have sold her soul, though, to get Cosimo out of the dungeons of the Signoria. Whether the relationship between them is good or bad is immaterial, Cosimo can’t, shouldn’t die there from poison, starvation or consumption that is so easy to get in damp chilly dungeon while the chamber do the worst, inventing his sins before God, people and the Albizzi family.

Contessina never had anyone closer.

Enraged Lorenzo swears to her that the Albizzi will spout blood if a single hair falls off Cosimo’s head.

Contessina looks at him like a drowning woman looks at a heaven-sent branch. For years they’ve been exchanging grievances, vain hopes, and finally they’re exchanging a kiss. It’s so long that Contessina’s knees buckle and lips ache, then Lorenzo promises to burn down the city that dares to reject the Medicis.

Then Contessina orders a horse to be saddled and rides to the Signoria for this mad plan should not become a reality.

For the Medicis are the true children of Florence.


	2. The Proud Ones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ingegerd and her daughters

The sky over Gardariki doesn’t flower. Who’d have thought that Ingegerd would miss it most of all, that she’d leave the hot bed during long winter nights and look for bright green and yellow flashes in the sky through a mica window.

She’s got used to everything: Jarizleifr’s grim nature and his lameness, her own new name — Irina. She got used to being faithful to her husband, got used to the idea of Olaf being married to Asrtid, she even got used to the fact that her heart grew cold toward Olaf. She was mildly surprised when she realized it.

She didn’t get used to the empty dark sky each and every year, though.

Jarizleifr repaid her the loss of her betrothed and her homeland — as well as he was able. Ingegerd had no reason to complain or worry: her husband heeds her advice, puts her in charge of negotiations, trusts her with his army, grants her wishes, has no concubines. Were he not lame and more free-hearted Ingegerd would have loved him. She has only pity for him — it’s what the wives of Gardariki call it. Jarizleifr is glad to have even that.

* * *

Her sons stop needing her soon, when they start walking they enter the men’s world. Ingegerd tends to her daughters till their marriage — she tells them of the Swedish lands. She invites Sigurd the Dragonslayer, Brunhild the Valkyrie, Gunnlaugr Ormstunga and Harald Fairhair to the wooden well-heated rooms. She’s afraid that her children will never know about the flowering skies, countless lakes scattered throughout Svealand, long narrow inaccessible inlets cutting deep into Norway lands (one could walk the whole day along the such shore and not see the opening); about majestic and fearless flat bottomed ships, about the language that Ingegerd spoke in her youth, about forefathers who united tempestuous Northern kingdoms under one crown.

“Sigrid, the first queen of Norway and Svealand, was so proud that when her husband died she refused to wed landless and poor konungs whose riches could fit in a single chest, who had just enough guards to keep one house safe and whose lands ended right outside the gates of a single estate. Many such men tried to woo her, tried to force marriage upon Sigrid with promises and threats. Once she had two suitors: Harald, a konung from Norway, and Vissavald, a konung from Gardariki. Advisers of the latter’s father instigated a conflict between him and his father and sent him to Svealand through deception.”

“I wouldn’t have married that one,” Anastasia interjects. “What kind of konung can’t see through deception!”

She will become a bride soon. Jarizleifr keeps bringing up her potential suitors. Ingegerd nods, sorts through maps depicting far-way and neighboring lands and has no idea who can stand such a strong-willed wife. If she would get power — Sigrid will pale in comparison! Sturdy set of her head, strong shoulders, firm line of her jaw — it’s easy to see what sort of husband Jarizleifr could have been if he weren’t mutilated.

“The legend goes, he was young when it happened,” Ingegerd frowns a little. “Sigrid tried to buy her freedom with gifts and feasts, but the suitors refused to give up. Then she lost her patience. Sigrid invited both of them to a feast to a huge, but decrepit house. When the konungs and their guards became so drunk they couldn’t stand straight she ordered the doors to be blocked and the house burned. The ones who got out were slaughtered.”

“Ah, so terrible!” Elisabeth-Elisiv, the most Northern child of hers with frosty white skin and linseed hair, gasps — not in fear, but in awe.

“Ah!” little Anna coos after her sister and gets onto her mother’s lap. She grabs her golden torc, takes it off her and tries it on. “Does it look pretty?”

“Yes.” Ingegerd strokes her head. “Poor konungs never again dared to woo Sigrid, and she gained a name Sigrid the Proud.”

Anastasia nods approvingly. Little Agatha plays with her rattle made out of fish bladder. Her soft baby hair don’t reach her shoulders yet. She will remember something of her mother’s stories, though...

* * *

Elisiv remembers her mother’s terrible tales, where blood mixed with honey and treason grew out of loyalty, stares at the flowering sky and believes that she’ll be as proud as Sigrid. Tora Torbergsdatter attracts the attention of austere Harald with her soft inviting glances. He forgets to complain about the disdain of the Rus girl and contemplaints the idea of attacking filthy rich lands of the Angles.

Majestic flat bottomed ships with the ships’ heads shaped like swan necks carry envoys from Gardariki to far off Wales through the North Sea - to offer kniazhna Agatha’s hand in marriage to the future king of the Angles by the name of Edward.


End file.
